


Maybe

by Vorabiza (Biza)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-10-15
Updated: 2007-10-15
Packaged: 2018-09-17 13:55:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9327926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Biza/pseuds/Vorabiza
Summary: George and Harry need some time alone to heal, but being alone together opens up new possibilities.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I miss Fred.

Lying in bed, George pressed his good ear into the pillow and could still hear the row between Ginny and Harry. Most of the family had gone to Diagon Alley for the afternoon and they could probably hear it as well. It seemed Ginny had been taking lessons from their mother, shrieking like a harpy. And Harry, well, he’d never been a particularly quiet bloke when angry.

George didn’t want to hear it and he didn’t want to get involved, but he couldn’t help but listen. The main couple of the Wizarding world was obviously not going to be a couple any longer. It made him feel a bit depressed to see them split up, considering they actually had the option of staying together. He shied away from thinking about his missing half.

Sometimes their voices quieted a bit and he couldn’t catch everything they were saying. He thought maybe they might be working things out after all before Ginny started shouting something about Draco Malfoy. He didn’t understand how Malfoy was a part of their fight but hexes started flying soon after he was mentioned.

George was reluctantly dragging himself out of bed to intervene when Harry stomped down the stairs. Moments later the back door slammed. Sighing, George knocked on Ginny’s door.

“Go away!”

“Ginny, it’s me.”

She cracked the door open and peered out at him with red-rimmed eyes, filled with anger rather than tears.

“All right?”

“No thanks to Harry, I’ll be fine,” she said, giving George the impression that she was already planning her revenge. “Tell him to find somewhere else to live because I don’t want him here anymore.”

“I’m not –”

“ _Please_ , George.” He could see the tears threatening to overtake the anger.

He sighed. “All right.”

“Thank you.” She sniffled and shut the door in his face.

~*~*~*~

George found Harry furiously skipping rocks, though more of the rocks were sinking with a splash rather than skipping over the surface of the pond. Harry didn’t look like he had any physical injuries from the hexes anymore than Ginny had, but the fury hadn’t yet dissolved into melancholy.

Brooding would likely commence soon enough, especially if George honoured Ginny’s wishes and asked Harry to leave. It didn’t seem fair, since it was kind of Harry’s home, too. George didn’t particularly want to tell Harry to move out, since Harry was the only one who treated him with an attitude somewhat resembling normal.

Of course, Harry had reason to understand what it was like to have everyone hovering over him and acting like he might break at any moment. It wasn’t pleasant, especially when you just wanted to be left alone for a bit. 

“Do you want to get a flat with me?”

Harry squinted against the bright sun. “Huh?”

“Well, you don’t want to stay here, do you? And I know you don’t want to go back to Grimmauld Place.”

“Erm . . . no.” Harry’s anger slipped, uncomfortable confusion taking its place. “I just dumped your sister. For the second time.”

“I know.”

“You don’t need a flat.”

George studied the ripples on the water. “Maybe I could use a change of scenery.” He was grateful when Harry didn’t question him further.

“All right, then.”

~*~*~*~

Instead of a flat, Harry found a house for them in the countryside, conveniently far away from everyone. It was more of a cottage, really, and rather unique, but it suited them.

The downstairs was a large living room and kitchen. Upon mutual agreement, they set up a pool table in the area meant to be the dining room and placed barstools at the length of counter jutting out into the middle of the room. Upstairs was a loft bedroom that ran almost the entire length of the house, minus a good-sized bathroom curtained off at one end.

Essentially, it was one gigantic room, divided by counters, railings, curtains and furniture. For Harry, the openness deterred lengthy visits from overzealous friends. For George, the openness allowed him to see and hear his roommate wherever he was in the house.

Not that George wanted to admit to anyone that he wasn’t comfortable being alone. He suspected Harry already knew but Harry didn’t seem disturbed by his constant presence. Maybe Harry didn’t really like being alone either.

“Maybe we should get a telly,” Harry said one evening, sprawled on the opposite end of the sofa and simply staring into the fire.

“A telly?”

“Yeah, we’ve got electricity here.”

That hadn’t been hard to miss. George enjoyed flicking the little switches that turned the lights off and on; Harry hadn’t begrudged him the pleasure.

“So what’s a telly?”

~*~*~*~

Harry slid his wand off the nightstand and whispered, “Ennervate,” while pointing it towards the other bed. He could only bear the nightmare pleas for so long. Shifting to lie on his side, he stared at the square of moonlight and tried to ignore George’s hitched breathing slowly returning to normal. The shuffling footsteps snagged his attention away from the window, but he didn’t say anything when George climbed into bed beside him.

How often had George climbed into Fred’s bed for comfort? Harry closed his stinging eyes and cursed Fred for dying.

~*~*~*~

“Does it, you know, hurt?”

George lifted bleary eyes to Harry. “Huh?”

“Your ear.”

“No.” George went back to watching the telly, but Harry persisted despite the late hour.

“My scar doesn’t hurt either.”

“Should it?”

“No. Voldemort’s gone.”

Squinting at the clock in the flickering light, George was fairly certain it was almost four in the morning. Some rough calculations determined that they’d been watching the telly for approximately two months without serious interruption. He had no idea what had brought on this dip into the unspeakable.

“You tired, Harry?”

“It’ll be light soon,” Harry said, as if that were an acceptable answer. George reckoned it was, all things considered. They’d turned into creatures of the night and avoided the conventions of normal daytime routines. Nightmares were easier to face in the sunlight.

~*~*~*~

“Go, go, go . . . score!”

“Damn it!”

Harry trudged to the kitchen and grabbed two beers out of the fridge, the penalty for his team not scoring the next point. Since he was already there, he snagged a questionable jar of processed cheese and swiped a stale bag of crisps off the counter as he passed by.

“You gonna share that?”

“Don’t see why I should,” Harry grumbled, dumping the goods on the middle cushion of the sofa.

George flashed a quick grin. “It’s not my fault you picked a losing team. You’re as bad as Ron.”

“Hey now, they’re nowhere near as bad as the Cannons.”

Apparently that wasn’t even worth a response, because George changed the subject. “I still don’t understand why we can’t get Quidditch on the telly.”

Harry heaved a sigh of fond exasperation. “There’s no Wizarding channel.”

“But there should be.”

“Someone would have to create it first.”

The glint of challenge briefly lit George’s eyes before he retreated into a sullen silence for the remainder of the evening. Apparently he’d forgotten for a moment that he’d given up creating things.

~*~*~*~

“I don’t know how to do this,” Harry whispered.

George’s blue eyes caught the moonlight as he stared at Harry blankly, paused with one knee on the bed. “Do what?”

Harry fervently wished he’d kept his mouth shut, just as he had all the other times George had climbed into his bed. Still, he was tired of feeling helpless so he tried to explain.

“It’s just . . . am I supposed to actually do something to make you feel better? I mean, I just lay here, doing nothing.”

George didn’t move a muscle, not even to speak. Flushing with embarrassment, Harry tried again.

“I don’t know how to be a brother. Not that I am your brother. But am I supposed to – I don’t know – give you hugs or something? Would it help?”

He wasn’t sure if it was shadows or pain that darkened George’s eyes, but suspected it was the latter and tried to apologize.

“I know I’m not Fred. I’m sorry. I just wanted to –”

“Shut up, Harry.”

Definitely pain, and Harry felt miserable for causing it. He’d broken the ultimate rule and spoken Fred’s name. Unable to bear the look on George’s face and unsure what else he could do, he turned onto his side, putting his back to George. It was an interminable wait before George finally moved and, much to Harry’s surprise, it was to get into the bed rather than walk away.

Lying stiffly, he was stunned when George scooted close to his back and put an arm around his waist. The movement was tentative, as if George expected Harry to protest. Which was ridiculous since Harry had offered hugs and comfort. He was pretty sure this would count as a hug, at any rate, though it wasn’t exactly what he’d expected.

He could feel George’s forehead pressed to the back of his skull as George whispered hoarsely, “I don’t want you to be Fred. Just Harry.”

~*~*~*~

Harry endured the new nightly embrace, reminding himself that it was only about comfort but suspecting that Ginny might’ve been right about him being gay.

It wouldn’t be right to develop feelings for George, for a lot of reasons, but Harry had to wonder if it would explain why he was missing the old George more and more often.

~*~*~*~

George pressed himself against Harry’s back, not liking himself much. He knew it was wrong to take advantage of Harry’s good nature but he rationalized by telling himself that touching Harry was necessary to his survival.

It scared him that it might be true.

Losing Fred had been bad. It was still awful, but being near Harry made it a bit more bearable. Harry’s presence soothed ragged nerves and gave him time to heal. Harry made him feel hope that eventually he might be able to function without Fred by his side.

He didn’t know what to do about the worry that he might not be able to function without Harry.

~*~*~*~

“Oh, my,” Hermione breathed as she looked around the room in horror.

Harry tightened the towel around his waist, wondering if he should be feeling embarrassed. “We weren’t expecting company.”

“I can see that.”

Really, it was far too early to be dealing with Hermione, but he knew she wasn’t likely to leave anytime soon. “I’ll just go get dressed, yeah?”

“Sure, mate,” Ron said, seemingly not disturbed by Harry and George’s obvious lack of housekeeping skills. He was already picking out a pool cue when he remembered to ask, “Where’s George?”

“Upstairs. I’ll get him.”

Harry hurried upstairs, thankful his bed was against the far wall. He was not particularly willing to find out how his friends would react to finding George in his bed.

“George,” Harry whispered. “Get up. Ron and Hermione are here.”

“Ti’zit?”

“It’s almost five o’clock.”

“T’rly,” George mumbled, trying to bury under the blankets.

Harry was sympathetic, considering he’d just got up himself and had planned on taking a shower before he’d heard the knock on the door.

“George, c’mon. You don’t want Ron to discover you in my bed.”

“’S okay. He knows I’m gay.”

Harry froze, hand inches from shaking George’s shoulder. Wide, fully-aware eyes slowly appeared over the edge of the blanket.

“Erm . . . I didn’t mean to say that.”

~*~*~*~

Harry periodically nodded in response to Ron’s chatter, head still reeling. He’d been sleeping with a gay bloke almost every night and it had never even occurred to him that George thought of him sexually. Not that George was, necessarily, but he could be. And really, it was a strong possibility since Harry had been _snuggling_ with him every night.

Escaping to take his shower, Harry had neatly avoided saying anything. He was now thankful for Ron and Hermione’s presence because he didn’t know how to interpret George’s glances in his direction and didn’t want to face him alone anytime soon. So he jumped at Hermione’s offer to take them all out for a real dinner.

~*~*~*~

Harry was harshly reminded why he’d been hiding from the world, and it wasn’t all about Ginny. Fending off his admirers took time and energy; which left him no time to worry about Ginny or George. It didn’t leave him any time to eat, either.

“This is ridiculous,” Ron said, pushing aside his half eaten meal. “Let’s go.”

Harry stared. “But you’re not done.” Ron never gave up food.

“The world hasn’t ended, has it?” George quipped. The effort at teasing was only half-hearted, but left Harry just as surprised. George hadn’t cracked any jokes since Harry had mentioned Fred’s name, wandering around the house in sullen silence. He was even more brooding than Harry, which was a really bad sign of George’s mental health.

“We’ll go to a Muggle pub,” Hermione said decisively, tugging Harry to his feet.

~*~*~*~

With a burger, chips, a pint and anonymity, Harry was much more comfortable. Unfortunately, it also left him open to attack from the home front.

“Harry, how can you live like that?” Hermione asked.

“Er, like what?”

“Your house is disgusting!”

“It’s not,” he protested. “It’s just lived in.”

Ron attempted to muffle his sniggering with a bite of burger and choked. Harry thought it served him right.

“There’s garbage and dirty dishes everywhere, mold in the fridge, and I’m afraid to ask what that smell was.”

“It smells bad?”

“George’s socks and Harry’s shoes.”

They all turned to stare at Ron, who shrugged. “Harry always wears fresh socks, but his shoes are ripe. I think he’s wearing the same pair from fourth year.”

Hermione looked curious despite herself. “And George?”

“He buys new shoes, but wears his socks until they can stand on their own.”

“It’s not like anyone can see them,” George said. “Besides, even if they could, at least mine match.”

Harry smacked him on the shoulder. “I like my socks.”

“Harry, you have the same taste in socks as Dobby.”

“So?”

Hermione whistled to snag their attention. “The _point_ is that you two are living like utter slobs.”

“Nah, we’re living like bachelors,” George said.

“Same thing.”

Harry grinned. “We’re men. It’s to be expected.”

Hermione did not appear to be impressed. In fact, she looked overly concerned. “I think you’ve taken things to extreme. When was the last time either of you left the house? Even to buy food.”

Harry scratched behind his ear as he tried to remember. “Last week, maybe?” he asked George.

“Milk’s curdled, so it must’ve been the week before.”

“See, it wasn’t that long ago,” Harry said to Hermione, not understanding her horrified and disgusted expression. “What?”

“You don’t drink the curdled milk, do you?”

“Of course not. We don’t eat anything that’s turned green, either. We’re healthy.”

“Debatable,” Hermione muttered under her breath. She shifted focus. “Why won’t either of you come to the Burrow?”

Tension settled over them like a blanket, muffling the noise from the rest of the pub.

Harry darted a nervous look at George before saying, “You know why.”

“It’s been four months, Harry. Ginny’s not still angry with you.”

“Yeah, she’s seeing Dean again.”

“Ron!”

“What?”

“That’s not helpful.”

“Why? I’m just saying that she’s over Harry so it’s all right for him to come back.”

George muttered an excuse about needing the loo and Harry let Ron and Hermione argue over Ron’s lack of tact, his gut twisting unpleasantly. He was a little disappointed but not particularly upset to hear that Ginny had moved on. The real problem was the realization that he’d let her go, but hadn’t done much to move on himself.

Perhaps Hermione was right to be worried. He didn’t really do anything aside from watch the telly and sleep. And the sleep wasn’t even all that good.

Unless one counted sleeping with George. He stared at the tabletop, not happy with the reminder that he needed to sort out that complication. His mind was unhelpfully supplying him with images of him and George “sleeping” together, which only made matters worse.

“Did you know George was gay?”

Ron blinked and Hermione halted mid-lecture.

“Er, yeah, but he made me not tell anyone.” Ron shuddered, clearly remembering whatever George had said or done to threaten him. “He told you?”

Harry nodded. “Earlier. This afternoon.”

“It’s not a problem for you, is it?”

“Er, no.” Not in the sense that Ron meant.

Hermione’s eyes had taken on a speculative glint that worried Harry, but she didn’t say anything.

~*~*~*~

It was a relief to be home, away from his well-meaning friends who wanted him to actually face his issues and deal with them. Unfortunately for his sanity, it was George’s home as well. They hadn’t spoken a word to each other since they’d returned three hours before, which was all right except that Harry was now terrified of going to bed.

Eyes still on the telly, George cleared his throat which made Harry feel like he was jumping out of his skin.

“You’re not leaving, are you?”

The question was unexpected and hadn’t ever crossed Harry’s mind. “I . . . no.” He swallowed. “Do you want me to?”

“No.” George turned away from the telly but refused to look at Harry. “I know I should’ve told you, but I didn’t want this – this awkwardness – to happen.”

“I don’t care that you’re gay.” Which wasn’t precisely true because Harry was finding that he cared quite a bit, but he was anxious to overcome the uncomfortable feelings George was talking about.

“Even though I’ve been sleeping in your bed?” George asked with a hint of bitterness.

Harry licked his lips. “Um, you weren’t coming on to me, were you?”

“Bloody hell,” George cursed softly. “No, I was just –”

“Then it’s all right,” Harry interrupted, ignoring the voice in his head that said he was disappointed with George’s answer.

~*~*~*~

“Why are we doing this again?” George asked.

“Because Hermione made us feel guilty.”

“Right.”

“Are you going to tackle the fridge?”

George snorted, a smile teasing the edges of his lips. “You’re supposed to be the brave hero, not me.”

“Piss off,” Harry retorted, though rather than being angry, he was relieved that things had gone back to normal. Somewhat normal, at any rate. George wasn’t being quite as sullen, Harry was making an effort to be more cheerful, and both of them were up off the sofa trying to revive their house.

Three days of projects and they still hadn’t faced the fridge. Dealing with the sock situation had been more pleasant than the green things they’d been ignoring for weeks.

“D’you think the growing things will attack if we try to move them?” George asked curiously as he peered into the refrigerator.

“They’re not supposed to.”

George glanced at Harry askance. “That sounds like you believe they will.”

“A lot of stuff happens in the Wizarding world that’s not supposed to.”

“Ah.” George shut the door and turned to lean against it. “So, shall we go buy a new one?”

“They’re expensive,” Harry warned.

“I’ve got money.”

“All right. We need to go out to buy new dishes anyway.”

“Don’t forget new shoes.”

~*~*~*~

Harry collapsed onto the sofa, sore but surprisingly content. George flopped down beside him, heaving a relieved sigh that indicated he was in agreement.

“It’s done.”

“Yeah.” George turned his head to look at Harry. “Now what?”

Normally they’d turn the telly on, but Harry had to admit that it didn’t sound appealing. Not until his favourite programme came on at ten, anyway. He stared longingly towards the sparkling kitchen.

“If I felt like getting up, I’d go get a beer.”

“Why don’t they make coffee tables with refrigerators in them?” George asked, propping his feet up on their current table.

“No electric plug in the middle of the room?”

“Just run the cord over to one. Or put a plug in the floor. Do they have to be in walls?”

“Um, dunno.”

“I bet you could.”

Harry made himself more comfortable as he listened to George ramble on about different ideas. Life was good.

~*~*~*~

George had managed to stay in his own bed all week, but it was getting harder each night rather than easier. He missed Harry’s warmth. He missed Harry’s hair tickling his nose. He missed the feel of Harry’s steady heartbeat under his palm.

Most depressingly, it wasn’t even about sex. He rolled to his side, determinedly facing away from Harry while cursing himself for being so dysfunctional.

He was supposed to be out partying and having sex with any available bloke. He should’ve been working and making lots of money. He should’ve been playing pranks and inventing new products.

Instead, he was clinging to his best friend, afraid to do anything.

Best friend.

Nausea hit him with the unexpected thought and he scrambled for the loo.

“George?” 

George glanced up to see Harry standing in the doorway looking adorably rumpled and sleepy. When had Harry become his best friend instead of Fred?

“You all right?”

“No. Fred’s gone.”

Harry blinked, his eyes revealing new caution as well as concern. “I know.”

George rested against the bathtub, pulling his knees up to his chest. “He’s not coming back. Ever.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It feels wrong to do anything without him. He was my best friend.”

Harry inched into the bathroom and sat down by the counter. “Tell me about him?”

George talked.

~*~*~*~

George was slowly coming to terms with the fact that he simply wasn’t wired to function by himself. He’d been dependent on Fred all his life and he’d spent the last several months becoming attached to Harry. He wanted Harry to be a lot more than a brother but if that was all Harry could offer, George was going to take it.

He padded over to the other side of the room.

“Can I sleep in your bed?” he asked, tensing in anticipation of being rejected. “I won’t touch you or anything.” He winced inwardly at voicing his vulnerability but admitted, “I just don’t want to be alone.”

Harry squinted up at him before rolling to his side and opening a space for George. With a soft sigh of relief, George settled under the blankets and inhaled the scent of Harry. His breath got held in his chest when Harry slid back to rest against him.

“I don’t want to be alone, either,” Harry whispered. He reached back and fumbled for George’s arm, pulling it around and tucking George’s hand against his chest.

A warm surge of gratitude and tenderness filled George as he shifted to fit Harry’s body comfortably against his own.

~*~*~*~

The balance in the house slowly shifted. It was nice to hear George talking again; he wasn’t the sort meant for silence. Harry, however, was struggling to keep up. Functioning in brooding silences had been a favourite pastime since he’d begun sleeping in the cupboard under the Dursley’s stairs.

As George’s disposition improved, Harry’s bad mood was more noticeable. Though it really wasn’t bad so much as he was prone to losing himself in introspection, which generally left him feeling depressed or restless.

“What’s on your mind?”

“Huh?” Sitting on one of the stools, Harry had been watching George putter around the kitchen fixing some unknown creation for their dinner. What he hadn’t been doing was listening.

George flashed him a grin. “Your mind. It looked like it was functioning overtime.”

Harry flushed, embarrassed and turned on. By a smile. “I think I’m gay.”

The egg George had been about to crack landed on the floor with a splat. The two of them stared at it as they listened to the clock tick away the seconds. George’s swallow was loud.

“What makes you say that?” he asked, doing a crap job at pretending to be casual as he cleaned up the mess and went back to cooking. “People don’t just turn gay, you know.”

“I know that.” Harry drummed his fingers on the countertop. “I reckon I’ve always been gay, but I thought I was supposed to be with girls.”

“And you’ve decided you don’t have to be with girls now?”

“Er, no. Ginny kind of decided that.”

Another egg fell casualty to the kitchen tile.

“Ginny decided?”

“Yeah, because of Malfoy,” Harry mumbled, wondering what had possessed him to start this conversation.

George gave up on his dinner preparations and crossed the room to stand on the other side of the counter. “What’s Malfoy got to do with you and Ginny?”

“She, uh, said I was obsessed with him while we were going out and she didn’t like it.”

“Were you?” George asked, sounding extremely interested in the answer.

Harry shrugged, no better at pretending to be casual than George. “He’s a git, but he’s hot.”

The clock ticked away ten seconds before George started to laugh. A full belly laugh that grew steadily in volume. Despite being utterly mortified, Harry couldn’t tear his eyes away.

“I think I’m obsessed with you now,” Harry whispered reverently. “You’re gorgeous when you laugh.”

The laughter cut off abruptly and Harry cursed himself for opening his mouth.

“Harry?”

There were a lot of questions bottled up in the utterance of his name and he wasn’t sure how to answer any of them. “Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“Maybe you should’ve said something a long time ago,” George suggested, edging his way around the counter.

“Maybe.” Harry swivelled on the stool to face him, though he had trouble meeting his gaze. “Maybe I’m not very good at this.”

“Maybe I’m not either.” George rested his hands lightly on Harry’s knees. “Maybe I’m too messed up.”

Harry’s faint amusement with the “maybe” game they were playing dissipated like a puff of smoke. “I’ve only kissed girls before.”

George blinked and his lashes looked heavy as his eyes opened again. “I could kiss you.”

“Would you want to?”

Skipping a verbal answer, George cupped Harry’s face with both hands and kissed him.

~*~*~*~

For the first time in all the months they’d been sharing a bed, Harry turned to face George.

“Do you think it’s all right to do this?”

Amusement made George’s eyes sparkle. “We’re not doing anything.”

“Maybe I want to be.”

George pulled him flush along his body. “Maybe I do, too.”

~*~*~*~

Harry was comfortably ensconced on the sofa with his head in George’s lap when a knock sounded on the door. He scrambled to sit up as panic flared to life.

“We’ve got company,” George said lightly.

“It’ll be Ron and Hermione!”

“Of course it will. No one else ever comes here.”

“But they’ll know!”

“Know what?” George leered. “Know that you had your mouth wrapped around –”

“Shut up,” Harry hissed, his ears burning. “It’s not like I was doing that _now_.”

“Pity,” George said as he stood up to go answer the door. He shot a glance over his shoulder. “Relax, Harry, or I’ll think you’re ashamed of me.”

Harry was still gaping unbecomingly when George let Ron and Hermione in.

“What’s wrong with you?” Ron asked, dropping onto the sofa and bouncing Harry out of his stupor.

Hermione’s eyes were roaming the room with a critical eye but Harry couldn’t care less if she approved of their newly developed housekeeping skills. Her attention snapped to Harry upon hearing Ron’s question.

“Are you ill? You look a little flushed.”

From the kitchen, George grinned as he gathered drinks for everyone. “He’s been feeling a little overheated, but I’m sure he’ll be fine.”

Harry ignored his friends’ worried questions and stalked over to George.

“I’m not ashamed of you.”

“Prove it.”

Never one to back down from a challenge, Harry dragged George close and kissed him soundly. Still, he was nervous as he turned to face his friends, grateful for George’s support at his back. George’s arms were looped loosely around his waist and he laced their fingers together while he waited for their reaction.

Hermione recovered first, waving her hand in front of her face as if to ward off a heat spell. “So you’ve finally figured things out.”

Harry returned to gaping and Ron sighed.

“Ginny was right, then.” He shoved his hands deep in his pockets as he eyed Harry and George. “I reckon you look happier.”

~*~*~*~

“See, that wasn’t so bad, was it?”

Harry mumbled something vaguely affirmative as George worked the knots out of his shoulders. It certainly could’ve gone much worse but coming out to the entire family was still a nerve-wracking experience. He shuddered at the memory of trying to explain to Ginny about his relationship with George.

“They’ll get used to us being a couple.”

There was something besides reassurance in George’s voice that made Harry turn to face him. “Are you happy?”

“Mostly,” George said, not denying that he still had some lingering dark shadows. “I don’t think I’ll ever be the same person I used to be.”

“Me neither,” Harry agreed. Some day he was going to have to decide what he wanted to do with his life and George was going to have to face the shop, but for now they were content to live simply.

“D’you want to go to bed?”

“Maybe.” George slanted him a sly grin. “Depends on whether you want to sleep or not.”

Harry grabbed George’s hand and began pulling him towards the stairs. “Maybe we’ll sleep later.”

Maybe left room for lots of possibilities and they gave themselves the time to explore them.

~~Finite~~

**Author's Note:**

> I still miss Fred.


End file.
